


Behind The Scenes

by yo_yo_san



Category: Guniw Tools, Jrock, Plastic Tree, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M, Makeup, Photography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-09-15
Updated: 2000-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-10 22:44:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2043096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yo_yo_san/pseuds/yo_yo_san
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryutaro is called to be a model. Full is mysterious, as always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Set

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, I sure did write me some JRock RPF back in the day. Most of it is horrible. I still kind of like this one.  
> (The constantly shifting viewpoint was, I think, mostly deliberate, but then, this is almost fourteen years old, and who can say what I was actually thinking when I wrote it? Not I. Not anymore.)

Clunky platform boots echoed on the soundstage. Full barely looked up from poring over his notes on the previous day's shots. All the outdoor sections were finished and now only one shot was left. It would appear for only a few seconds in the final product, but he considered it very, very important in this, his most elaborate video production ever.

"Full? Bro? I'm not late, right?"

The voice, so shy and hesitant. Full could just imagine the reluctant face behind him, brow creased with worry, fingers probably twisting together to form Gordian knots of fretfulness. He turned, almost too quickly.

"Not at all. Thanks for doing this for me, Tarou."  
"No problem. It's a little odd, but, since it's you..."  
"I really appreciate it."  
"Yeah...."  
Silence slipped in like a fluffy grey kitten, parading around the stage while Ryutaro blushed. Full let it maraude about for a few moments, then shut his notebook with an audible snap.

"Actually, you're rather early, which is good, because it gives me more time to get you ready."  
"So what are you doing to me, anyway? I know it's something that will make it hard to tell who I am, because otherwise the record company might have problems with it, but you wouldn't tell me earlier..."  
"Tell me, Ryutaro, have you ever worn a kimono?"  
"...A woman's...?"  
"Yes."  
"You're putting me...in DRAG?!"  
"Yes."  
"..."  
"Tell me you don't think it'll work."  
"...Just tell me one thing, Full."  
"Sure."  
"Where did you get my sizes?"

Ryutaro reflected to himself that he'd never again ask Full that sort of question. The demonically amused grin that he recieved as an answer was too much for his heart to bear. Perhaps worse, he couldn't decide if the sudden thundering was caused by dread, or (definitely worse) anticipation.

*****

"So, does it fit?"

Ryutaro tugged at the neck, trying in vain to pull it up over his collarbone. It really was a beautiful kimono, in shades of purple swirled over with an elegant floral pattern at the sleeves and hemline, but it kept trying to fall _down_ , and Ryutaro just couldn't conscience facing Full without it properly _up_.

"More or less."  
"Eeexcccelllennnttt."  
"Don't say it like that..."  
"Sorry."  
"You don't sound sorry."  
"You're right. Come on out of there so I can fix your obi."  
"Ugh."  
"Come on. I know you must have gotten it crooked, or backwards, or something."

Ryutaro emerged from the dressing room, cheeks petal-pink. He stared at Full in silence, waiting for his opinion.

"Not bad."

Ryutaro turned, very slowly, so that Full could see the entire effect.

"No, not bad at all. But you've got one thing slightly wrong."

He stalked towards Ryutaro, hands already reaching out to adjust and tweak. The younger man had to fight hard to resist the temptation to flee while he still could, but remained quite still as Full tugged down the collar that he had struggled so much to correct. Suddenly it was settling somewhere only just above his shoulders, and warm breath hissed over his exposed collarbone. His hands flew up to the collar, fluttering uselessly, as there was nothing to be done, no way to protect the frail skin from whatever attack might come next. Besides, he couldn't very well argue with the director could he? No. Full stepped back again, that mysterious half-grin hovering about his lips, and examined Ryutaro again.

"Better. Now for makeup."  
"Of course."  
"Don't sound so put-upon, Tarou-chan. You do it voluntarily all the time."  
"I guess."  
"Come on."

Full extended one slim hand, grabbing Ryutaro's rather larger one in a vise grip, and dragged him off to the designated makeup room. Ryutaro followed, stumbling helplessly in the constrictive garment. He dropped into the waiting chair rather gratefully, and closed his eyes. Full whisked a cloth over Taro's shoulders and shoved a headband over his hair to keep it out of the way while he worked.

As Full fussed with brushes and powders, creams, puffs, and sponges, he told Ryutaro very silly stories.

"A loong time ago, I was walking through a forest, and saw a squirrel playing in the treetops..."  
"Was it cute?"  
"It was very cute. Stop talking while I do this."  
"Right, Full. Sorry."  
"Anyway. So suddenly, CRACK!, the branch it was running on broke, and it fell towards my arms with a squeal like tires on concrete-"  
"And you actually caught it?"  
"No. Quit talking. I'm about to start on your mouth."  
"But-"  
"But nothing, you brat. Shut up."  
"But-"  
"That's it. No more story for you. Just sit still."

He wielded a lip brush threateningly and Ryutaro had to sit still to avoid getting his teeth painted along with his lips.

It really was an interesting set of sensations. The stiff bristles sleeking gloss over his lips; the soft prickle of the eyeliner and mascara on his eyelids and lashes; the fluffy texture of the puffs smoothing powder down to seal it all in. Not a set of sensations that he was unused to, by any means, but still, interesting. And somehow different, with the hand behind it being not just any person, but his close friend, who may have stopped telling stories, but was humming, quietly and almost tunelessly. Ryutaro felt stressed.

At last it was over. Ryutaro could hear Full moving a little away, tapping his fingers loosely on his arms. He started to creak open his eyelids, and Full tutted at him.

"Eyes closed, Princess Taro."

Full whisked away the towel, and started on his neck and exposed shoulders. The small brushes he used tickled immensely and curiously, scratching like finches and sparrows. What in the world was he up to, Ryutaro wondered idly, not daring to peek, though Full was quite finished with his face. His hair was next. Full pulled off the headband, and started fussing, clipping bits back, letting them drop forward, and presumably settling on a look he liked. Time passed, perhaps minutes, perhaps hours. It was impossible to tell. Ryutaro almost dozed off, but was startled awake by Full tapping on his head.

"Finished. You may look."

It was loosely his own face in the mirror. Loosely. His already pale skin had been transformed to pure porcelain; his dark eyes to smoky pits of despair. Somewhere along the line any lines of masculinity had been completely lost, leaving what he could almost admit was a rather pretty, very classical-looking girl (he sneered at his own vanity. how could he be beautiful with such huge puppy hands and feet? how could he be lovely at all?) swathed in a somewhat untraditional violet kimono, with peonies painted down her throat like tiny, bloody kisses, and a strangely-drawn striped insect perching on one eyebrow. One side of his hair had been loosely pinned back with a purple silk-winged butterfly clip, though it was already beginning to fall out, and the other drooped as it normally did, though it was less feathery than usual. Ryutaro felt lucky to have escaped so lightly, remembering some of the things that had been done to Asaki's hair over the years.

"Now you're ready. Give me a few moments to go talk to the lighting supervisor and set crew, and then I'll take you out to the set."

Ryutaro suddenly realized that he could indeed hear a faint rustle of voices outside the room, and his cheeks flushed under the makeup.

"You mean...?"  
"Oh, come on. You've done enough video shoots to know better than that."  
"Yes, but you always did yours-"  
"Not this one."  
"Oh."  
"This is the last shoot, however, then I take it all home and start editing. That part's still mostly me."  
"I'll just sit and wait here, okay?"  
"Good boy."

Full walked out, and Ryutaro remained, staring fascinated into the mirror, but with worms creeping about the pits of his stomach. What had he actually signed himself on for? What _was_ Full planning?

*****

Full examined the set carefully. It had been constructed to his specifications, sized just a little larger than any real furniture and intended to make the occupants look smaller. The dark faux velvet couch that formed the centerpiece was almost the size of a twin bed, and draped with ivy garlands and spiderwebs.

Tarou-chan would look like an elegant courtesan in this setting. Something about the prospect amused him. It would be a little in-joke amongst those few fans who were so obsessed that they thought they could identify someone from just the curve of a cheek and fall of hair, without even seeing the whole person. Rumors would fly, for a little while, then die down when no-one would be willing to confirm or deny anything. Only Ryutaro and he would know the absolute truth. That was the way he wanted it, and that was how it would remain.

He located the gaffer, and gave him a few instructions as to how he wanted things lit and where he needed shadows to fall. The studio dimmed somewhat as they were followed, and the set acquired an unearthly glow.

Full walked out onto the set proper, peering at things, setting things carefully awry in just the way he wanted. He could practically hear the rolling of eyes at his eccentricities, but he didn't care. This had to be perfect. Finally, he was satisfied.

He went back to get Ryutaro.


	2. Shooting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What on earth is Full thinking?

Full slipped back in the door to find his quarry sitting demurely, hands folded and hidden in the sleeves. He walked over and stretched out a hand, then just as quickly retracted it as the little scissors Ryutaro had hidden in his hand snipped sharply just beyond his fingertips.

"Clever. Where did you find those?"  
"Now I know how they might have defended their honor. You could keep some pretty heavy weaponry in these sleeves."  
"You have the right of it, Tarou, but please leave the scissors here."  
"Of course. Would you like an honorific while I'm dressed like this? I feel a bit weird not using it."  
"Not needed. Come on."  
"But of course, Lord Full."  
"Oh, quit that. Actually, don't talk at all in front of anyone but me."  
"You mean..."  
"No, they don't know. And I don't want them to."  
"As you like."  
"And walk a bit behind me so they can't tell quite how tall you are in reference to me."  
"As you like."

Ryutaro drifted into a vaguely disjointed reality. Things were beginning to stop making any clear or regular sense. He carefully avoided looking anyone in the eye, walking with tiny steps, face pointed at the floor, at Full's heels, nowhere at all.

All too soon he was faced with the familiar bright lights and blank-eyed camera that heralded his arrival on the set. He blinked at the couch, at the vines, at the joking camera crew, and heartily wished to be somewhere else. Suddenly he realized that Full had taken a seat in the director's chair, and that there was a small, busy-looking woman taking his elbow and hustling him to his place, directly on the couch, under the careless scrutiny of countless eyes.

It really was the sort of couch he was more used to thinking of as belonging in a psychiatrist's office, or perhaps, as it was velvet, a Victorian Gothic-style sitting room. It was rather short, with no back, claw feet, and only one, low, rolled armrest, more of a lying-couch, really. There was also a pillow, tasseled, resting at the foot, but the woman grabbed it and tucked it behind him before he had more than a glimpse.

"My, you're a tall one. Okay, miss. Just lie back on this pillow and we'll set you up. Full, tell me when I've got it just right, okay? Oh, you want her kneeling? Okay. It's hard to believe that he's actually having someone else do this. Usually he'd just be out here and all over his talent. How's this? More skin? Hm. How about that? More to the left? Okay, then just hold your hand like this. And now?"

As the woman babbled on, Ryutaro thought, "It's because he's feeling sadistic today. He wants me to be as uncomfortable as possible, so he's telling some stranger to put her hands all over me and pose me as he wants. He doesn't want to touch me, because...I don't know. Full, I hate you some days." But he didn't say a word, just lay back and let her manipulate his arms, his head, until he heard Full tell her that it was perfect.

He felt like a drowned sailor, adrift in the seaweed, or perhaps a vampire's victim, drained and left for dead. If he were lucky, he might rise again the next evening, craving blood.

He was loosely curled at the top of the couch, one arm flung over the armrest, hand completely covered by his trailing kimono sleeve. The collar seemed to be falling completely off his other shoulder, with that arm draped limply over his lap. His head was forced over to the side at an awkward angle to expose his throat, dotted with crimson flowers like cleverly shaped love bites, but his hair fell completely over his face, for which he was thankful. It meant he didn't have to see the gleeful expression he knew would be creeping around the edges of Full's countenance. He could feel the fabric beginning to expose bits of his legs, as well, which didn't really sit well with him, but, he felt, what choice did he have? He was posed. Shooting would begin any moment.

Soft voices dribbled into his ears, leeches sucking away his will to exist outside of this moment.

"Okay, rolling..."  
"1, 2, 3..."  
"Scene seven, take one--and--"  
"Action."  
Ryutaro didn't move an inch. No one had told him he was supposed to. He could feel the cameras shifting around, the air currents lifting a few strands of his hair. A moment stretching out into an invincible eternity of hell under close watch.

"And cut! That's a take. Break for ten while I prompt the talent on her next sequence."

Footsteps on boards. Ryutaro still didn't move. Voices trickling out of the room. Still unmoving. Closer footsteps. Closer. A hushed moment, then a soft finger trailing down his throat, following the path of the peonies, and down...Ryutaro sat up abruptly, a blush stinging his cheeks. Full stood beside him, looking down thoughtfully at him. His face was innocent, as though he'd hadn't been tracing little heatlines across Ryutaro's body just moments ago.

"What now? What else are you going to do to me?"  
"For the next scene, all you need to do is, basically roll over so you're more or less falling off the couch, hand on the floor next to the overturned vase. Ryutaro, are you all right?"  
"No, not really. Actually, I feel a bit bad."  
"Do you want to finish this?"  
"Not really."  
"Will you?"  
"Yes."  
"This is the last scene with the crew, then I'm going to take a few shots on my own."  
"That would be better."  
"I thought you might think so."  
"Yes."  
"So, let me see you do this."  
"What, roll off the couch?"  
"Yes."

Ryutaro shifted the kimono up a bit, but realized suddenly that it wasn't really falling off. It was so well fitted to his body that it could look and feel as though it were, but would never actually do so, unless forced.

"Stop that. You'll ruin the effect."

Full pushed it back down again, running his thumb along Ryutaro's collarbone in the process. He shivered, and Full smiled.

"Now, let me see it."

Ryutaro complied, flopping over while seeming perfectly limp, as though someone unseen had pushed him.

"How like you, Ryutaro. You got it right the first time. Now do that, just once, just like that, for the cameras, and we'll be done."  
"But of course, Lord Fu-"  
"None of that, Tarou. Okay, they're coming back. Back to first position."

Ryutaro sat back up and draped himself artfully over the couch again. His mind felt blank, stupid, like a funny little fat bird doing tricks for crumbs.

Again, the cameras hummed, again the board clicked. The wings of time fractured themselves beating against Ryutaro's empty head. He rolled on cue, then again, just in case the first time wasn't good enough, and, as a special bonus, elected to allow gravity to have its way with him and tumbled to the floor in a heap. Full ended the shot and applauded. Ryutaro stretched out on the floor, waiting, as Full shooed the rest of the crew out. He could hear people muttering, wondering if he were okay. He was not, might never be again. The worms had returned to his stomach, and were now busily trying to gnaw a hole through to the outside world.

At last, silence. It felt as though it had been hours, though in truth, perhaps only fifteen minutes had passed. Full came to him again.

"All right. You survived. Excellent improvisation, by the way."  
"Thank you."  
"No, thank YOU. Shall we begin the next section?"  
"I suppose so. Where do I need to be?"  
"This is actually a series of still shots, so I'm just going to have you moving around slowly, taking a pose or two, and then moving on. Start over by that window frame. Put your hand up on the greenery, then move it slowly down to the curtain."

Ryutaro got up off the floor carefully, trying not to muss the kimono any more than it already was. He stumbled to the window frame hung in midair; a window into nothing.

Full took the pictures quickly, slowly moving closer as he did. One from this angle, one from that angle, another from below Ryutaro's line of vision, and that one from standing on the couch, well above him. He tried not to enjoy watching Ryutaro drift from prop to prop as though lost in a dream. It was difficult. He had almost forgotten how those dark eyes could so easily become misty and incoherent, how those long, delicate fingers could manipulate objects and immaterial notions with equal ease; Full told him to 'touch the fragments of time', and he did it as though it was something that people did every day.

At last he had all the still shots he needed, but there was still something missing, something he wanted, but for himself, not for anyone else. Something he would never share with anyone. He left Ryutaro dazed in the center of his own personal tornado, and checked all the door locks.

"Now," he thought, "now...I can touch him for real, without curtains or veils in the way. Now, I can begin to understand him. This is for me, only me."

Dispassionately, Ryutaro watched Full moving around him, fussing, as usual. He was always so conscientious. He put away one camera, unscrewing the various parts and carefully packing them away, and then pulled out another, this one a Polaroid. His eyes were very bright, and he had a definite aspect that seemed to be laughing at, or perhaps with, Ryutaro.

"I've got something a little different in mind for this section, Tarin, my dear."

Startled out of his drift at the use of the affectionate diminutive, Ryutaro simply blinked at him.

"Back on the couch. I'll arrange you the first time, and then every time I say, 'Pose,' shift a little. I'll help you a bit, so you can get the idea of what I want, but I expect you to take it from there."  
"All right."

No questions. Ryutaro was under a strange spell. The clothes, the lighting, the total unreality of it all - it made him pliant, willing to go along with whatever insanity the Mad Hatter could pull out of that 5/10 hat. He had fallen down quite the rabbit hole, and wasn't certain where he would come out, or if. He lay down on the couch and allowed Full to remake him in a new form.


	3. Spotlit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have to be careful what you do with your friends.

"Look up, lips parted, one hand here, on your obi, that one up on your face. Shocked, but only a little."

Click. Whirr. Full tossed the photograph on the ground. He was standing over Ryutaro's feet, shooting down.

"Tug on the collar, close your eyes, lift that knee."

Click. Whirr. Toss.

"Slightly on your side, cover your neck with your hand, stare blankly. Ah..."

Click. Whirr. Toss.

"Pose."

Ryutaro was still completely uncertain of what Full wanted, or why he suddenly felt as though he were in a peculiar, potentially pornographic film, but he didn't mind. It was somehow numbing to let Full tell him what to do. But Full was kicking his knee. What?

"POSE."

Ryutaro clutched the sleeve in his teeth and threw his other hand off the couch.

Click. Whirr. The photograph landed on Ryutaro's sleeve. He gazed at it, uncomprehending.

"Pose."  
"Full?"  
"Yes?"  
"What's going on?"  
"You're being turned into a doll for a little while."  
"Is that all?"  
"Perhaps."  
"All right then."  
"Pose, dolly."  
"Yes."

And he did. Photograph after photograph tumbled to the ground, pausing only twice for Full to reload his camera with gently shaking hands. With each clickwhirrtoss, Ryutaro could feel his control drifting further and further out of reach. He felt stillness beginning to billow deep inside his strangely senseless body. It grew larger with each snap of the camera, each soft whisper of silk across his skin. He was afraid, suddenly, but couldn't tell why.

"full..."

His voice had dissolved into a thready whisper. He looked at the man who was now kneeling by his side, camera poised to take yet another piece of his soul.

Full was slightly breathless. He hadn't thought Ryutaro would let this go so far, but he just couldn't find the will to stop it himself. It was so beautiful...

"Taro?"  
"Don't make me..."  
"Make you what?"  
"make me..."

Ryutaro tried to remember what it was that he was objecting to, couldn't, and sighed, almost involuntarily, a short intake of breath that cut forcefully into the next exhalation. To Full, it sounded like a sob. He put down the camera.

"Don't make you...cry?"  
"No, no. I'm not going to cry."  
"Then...?"  
"I don't know. I don't remember..."  
"Would you like me to stop?"  
"Not really. It sort of feels good in a weird way. Like having birds walk across your head. It prickles. Here."

He patted the left side of his chest, just under the collar of the gaping kimono.

"Feel."

There was a moment of perfect hush, then Full stretched out one hand and slipped it over Ryutaro's heart.

It beat restlessly under his fingers, an irregular stammering pulse buried safely behind walls of flesh and bone. Ryutaro's skin was slightly sticky under the thick silk. He lay his hand over Full's, pressing it into his chest.

"Do you see? Feel my heart tremble? Like birds. Or telephone wires."  
"I feel it."  
"You watching me, you taking pictures of me. It feels like that."

Full could almost see the birds. On any other day, with any other person, he would have passed it off as a delusion, but here, today, with Ryutaro, it was real. He tried thinking of other things in a desperate attempt to distract himself from the idea of small claws on his scalp, tried to think of anything besides the warmth of Ryutaro's skin under his hand, anything but Tarou's hand over his, pressing down with more strength than he had thought it could contain. He failed. He was entranced by the whole situation. Ryutaro's lips were loosely parted, and his eyes were closed, showing off pale lavender streaks he had put there earlier. He looked, Full thought, a bit like a human sacrifice waiting blissfully for the knife. But what would his death honor? What strange god was waiting for his blood?

Full thought that he had a pretty good idea.

"Ryutaro, I apologize."  
"Eh? For what?"

Full leaned forward slowly, sliding his hand further under Ryutaro's kimono, until their lips were just barely touching. Ryutaro's eyes snapped open, and Full watched his pupils dilate until the whole iris seemed nearly black, like the eyes of a fox caught in a snare. He flicked his tongue out, curling the edge along Taro's slack lips. Ryutaro froze, his breath caught in his throat, his eyes caught in Full's, drowning. The ghost of a smile flitted across Full's face, and he began to lean back. He curled his fingers as he slid his hand out of the kimono, just enough to scratch lightly over Ryutaro's skin.

Ryutaro now KNEW the world was out to turn absolutely upside-down on him today. First one thing, then another, and now Full was...what was he doing, anyway? Aside from currently resting three fingers very lightly on his sternum and looking faintly wistfully at him, Full had just licked him, or kissed him, or something. It was a complete mystery.

He almost wanted to shed a few dramatic tears. It would have seemed fitting. He heaved a half-choked breath out, trying to decide what to do. He could feel Full's fingers tracing designs out on his chest, perhaps following the line of flowers from his throat. It was odd, yet it also felt so nice, so correct, as though the action were following from the natural scheme of things. He sat up a little more, and Full pulled his hand away. Ryutaro hated the sudden feeling of chill that settled over his body at the lack of contact.

They stared at each other, neither able to keep their breathing properly even, and neither quite willing to shatter the tension.

Ryutaro could hear the blood pounding through his veins, rushing through each tiny passage like a billion miniscule bullet trains. He wondered if Full felt the same way. Dreamlike, he reached out and put one finger hesitantly on Full's throat. He shivered and his eyes widened a bit. Ryutaro left his hand there for a moment, just feeling the steady thunder of Full's racing pulse. It matched his own near perfectly.

Full wasn't sure what to make of Ryutaro's sweet, blank face. He assumed that the fact that he hadn't run screaming yet was a good sign, but the porcelain mask he'd made of his face gave no clues. Gingerly, he lifted his hand to cover Ryutaro's. A shy smile cracked the facade, and Full felt his heart jump. Ryutaro rolled his hand over and twined his fingers with Full's.

According to Ryutaro's thoughts at that moment, it seemed the right thing to do. Likely, this was entirely a dream, so he might as well behave in that manner. In his dreams, he and Full were dearest friends, and therefore nothing that happened between them could be misconstrued or taken wrongly. Best friends held hands all the time. Best friends could be trusted. Yes, his mind said, pull your thickest blankets over your head and listen to the sound of your heart growing louder and louder and more and more painful. Try to forget it all in the sound of your heart and his. Nothing is wrong, nothing and everything and nothing at all.

"Full..."

Full barely registered his name being spoken, so faint and hoarse was Ryutaro's voice.

"Full..."

That time he heard it.

"Yes?"  
"I want to go home. I'm a bit sleepy and very, very hungry."  
"Oh! Of course."

Shocked back into reality by the rather plain request, he blithered on for a moment or two without thinking about what he was saying, but it ended with,

"Shall we go get you unmasked? It's been lovely to look at, but it's scarcely practical for walking around in."  
"Yes, please. My neck is itching."

Full stroked the collar of the kimono.

"It's probably better if you change out of that before we start washing you up."

Ryutaro nodded, but didn't move.

"Something of a shame, but I don't really want to ruin the silk."

Another nod.

"Ryutaro, may I, that is, do you mind...just once..."  
"Honorable Lord, please feel free to do whatever you'd like."  
"Tarou, you're the worst. You don't even know what I was going to ask."  
"I don't really care, Full. You're one of my close friends. I trust you."  
"Really? Is that such a good idea?"  
"Perhaps."  
"You might do better trusting someone else."  
"I do. I trust, oh, Tadashi, and Ao, and-"  
"No, no. You don't need to list people."  
"-and Akira, and-"  
"Ryutaro!"  
"Do as you please, please."  
"All right."

Full, Ryutaro thought, was capable of moving faster than the eye could see at times. One moment he was kneeling in front of him, and the next, he was flush against his side. It was amazing. And now...oh...oh dear...

Full knew he had to do it quickly, or he'd completely lose the will to even try. He leaned forward, gripping Ryutaro's hand tightly in one hand, and bracing himself on the couch with the other. Ryutaro drifted one hand up to caress his cheek, which made it a little easier to push his willpower that extra inch necessary to press his lips to Ryutaro's. This time, there was no hesitation, no shock. Ryutaro's eyelashes fluttered closed and he willingly joined in the kiss.

There was something strange and blissful, faintly sinful, about kissing Ryutaro like this. Full liked it. It appealed to something perverse within him. All too soon, however, it ended. Their lips parted and Ryutaro dropped his head back, breathing a little raggedly. Full dropped a few light kisses on the proffered throat, lingering on his collarbone and the edges of his shoulders, then moved back.

"Tarou, shall we go? I'll buy you some cake or something."  
"Hmmnnyya."

He hefted his very heavy head up, and looked at Full. Then he giggled.

"Fullll...you have my lipstick all over your mouuuuuth..."  
"...Yes. I would expect so."

Ryutaro couldn't quite stop giggling, so Full stood up, still holding Ryutaro's hand. He tugged gently, and Ryutaro rose off the couch, standing as though it were his first time doing such a strange thing. Full noticed Tarou's wobbling and thought it charming, like a fuzzy crow just learning to fly. He nonetheless drew him closer, and held his elbow as well as his hand. Together, they made their way through the props and draperies, wires and equipment, until they reached the makeup room. Full turned to Ryutaro.

"Are you quite finished finding this hilarious?"  
"As soon as you wipe your mouth off, I'll stop."

Full wiped his mouth, looked in the mirror to check it, wiped again, then turned back to Ryutaro.

"Better?"  
"Much. Now, I should change, right?"  
"Right. I'll be waiting here."

It seemed almost a disappointment to get changed out of the personality-altering costume and back into his familiar street clothes. He realized just a moment before he tugged his shirt on that he had makeup all over his chest and neck as well as coating his face. With a hefty sigh, Ryutaro trundled back out to the makeup room, clutching his shirt over his bare chest. Full got one look at him peeking around the door and started chortling.

"That's ridiculous."  
"I couldn't get that stuff all over my shirt!"  
"No no, of course not. Sit."  
"I can do most of this on my own, you know."  
"So?"  
" _So_ , I don't really need you here."  
"Are you being shy, Tarou?"  
"..."

More laughter.

"You're mean."  
"In this instance, I think I'm justified."  
"No way."  
"-I- think I am."  
"Nope. Now sit down and put the shirt down so I can clean you up."

Ryutaro obeyed, feeling rather like an intemperate child and somehow, still a little shy and embarrassed. Full brusquely wiped the white base off his upper chest and shoulders with a damp sponge and a towel, then carefully, using cotton balls, cold cream, and tissues, cleaned off his face. Ryutaro was about to stand up, thinking he was finished, but Full shoved him back down in the chair gently.

"Still have to kill those peonies."  
"What?!"  
"On your neck. I haven't gotten to that yet."  
"Urr. Yes. Right."

He settled back again, wondering at the distracted tone in Full's voice.

For his part, Full was faintly regretting having to wipe away the little flowers. He thought that they were really very well done, and suited Ryutaro rather unreasonably well. Perhaps a little erotic, but that was a different story entirely. Ah well, too bad. At least he had the photographs. With one swift motion, he obliterated them.

When he was done, Full left to pick up the pieces of his momentary insanity while Ryutaro put back on his shirt and boots. He lingered over the laces for a bit, still not entirely certain that the world had decided to return to rotating properly on its axis. It hadn't been a bad kiss or three, certainly, just...strange. Strange.

Back on the soundstage, Full was picking up the last of the polaroids. Ryutaro stared at him in silent accusation from the photograph, but it wasn't really Ryutaro, just a shade, really, a sham-Ryutaro that he had created for a few hours. A little sadly, he slipped it into a pocket with the other remnants of the afternoon.

Ryutaro slipped out, wringing his hands behind his back. Full was just finishing packing his things up.

"Here, you carry this out, and we'll go have dessert. I have a lovely place in mind."

Ryutaro accepted the camera case and tripod with equanimity and they walked out to Full's black jeep together in silence, each lost in his own little world.

In the car, Full turned to Ryutaro and said, "You can have the kimono, if you'd like. I'm sure it would make a lovely wall hanging." Ryutaro nodded, but hadn't really heard the offer. Full turned back to the wheel and started the car.

Nothing had changed, had it? Then why, why did they feel a sudden reluctance in each other's presence? Why couldn't they quite meet each other's eyes? What had been lost, or, perhaps gained, there on that soundstage, during a few hours on a particularly strange afternoon?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a few edits from the original draft, but by and large, this has been preserved in gelatin for fourteen years. (It might be fifteen, actually.)


End file.
